


What Man Loves More Than Life

by CapriciousVanity



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Eroguro, Gen, Male Solo, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Surgical Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4197819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapriciousVanity/pseuds/CapriciousVanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Edward Nygma practices his surgical talent on a living person, rather than a corpse, the image sticks to him in a far more pleasing way than he anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Man Loves More Than Life

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it's not as rushed or crammed as I feel it is. Yell at me if something's dumb. Hope you enjoy!

Edward could barely contain himself. The man had put up a struggle before Nygma found enough strength to knock him on his feet, and with enough anesthetic he was unmoving. Their face was covered in layered cloth; Edward couldn’t stand being watched during these times. Now to cut open the chest cavity…

He felt a mixture of content and glee, knife cutting into the soon-to-be corpse, blood bubbling and spilling over as he ran his scalpel down the dotted guideline, starting just below the clavicle and gliding down, slowly and methodically to the abdomen. He cut just deep enough, as something too thin would cause the skin to peel unevenly.

Nygma set down his scalpel to peel up the flaps of skin, pinning them open like wings. He needed to cut the thoracic arteries and work quickly after, as not to kill the man. He stapled them shut and picked up the circular bone saw, flicking it on. As it whirred, he sighed, almost whimsically. He leaned down, over the body as he cut into the body’s sternum, separating the ribs. There was an enormous amount of blood. He was careful to avoid any other veinlines that needn’t be cut. Plucking stray red meat and muscle from the ribs, he broke them free and set them on a tray gently. Even if the man was going to die, that didn’t mean it would be here at this time, nor did it mean Nygma wasn’t going to do this as professionally as possible. If he was going to be sloppy, he would have just taken a hunting knife to the man.

Rolling up his sleeves and adjusting his latex gloves – oh, he liked the texture and the grainy residue they left behind – he dove his hands inside the chest cavity, careful in avoiding the heart and searching the Morrison’s pouch. Filling up with fluid, actually. He found he had nicked something on accident with his careless use of the bone saw and scolded himself. He picked up his needle driver and tucked the curved needle, already threaded, through the soft, wet flesh of the organ, pinching it out just slightly with tweezers. He thought about doing only as much as needed, but figured it would look sloppy. He finished the entire stitch and cut the thread, making sure nothing else was left behind. His fingers twitched as he looked around the room, his head tilting curiously like a small bird before taking the small, tubular vacuum. It needed to be as perfect as possible. That small nick, however, is going to bother Nygma for the rest of his criminal career. His memory was too good and it was burning him inside already. Or, was it a different kind of burning.

He pulled his hands out somewhat, feeling the fluttering of this person’s lungs. He could puncture them easily, make them collapse. It made something in his stomach stir. He took a deep breath and felt further, the outer lining of organs, slick and pulsating. He fluttered his eyes for a moment, taking his scalpel up again to cut out organs.

_The human body can sustain itself with even a majority of its vital organs taken out, save for, of course, the heart and brain… Artificial lungs can replace real ones…_

Nygma tore out the lungs, letting them splat against the metal of his tray. He felt light, airy even, as he cut into flesh and tore out thick slabs of flesh. The heart still beat – he’d leave it for last. Feeling particularly languid and lax, Nygma took the liver, cutting what flesh clung to it, then kidneys, pancreas, gallbladder, everything slowly to be taken out until the heart was all that would be left. He decided to have fun, of course, and this was just another puzzle. He had collected a number of flowers and had woven them into bouquets into the vague shapes of the man’s organs. Leaves crowded the man’s inside, cushioning the flowers as he set them inside.

With humor to start off, he secured foxglove at the man’s heart, woven into shape. Bright orange lilies at his stomach – they made the foxgloves pop – yellow carnations and marigolds framing the bright purple of the foxgloves further at the lungs. Edward took a pair of sheers from the dirt-covered counter and snipped away the wilting petals. What a terrible human being. Edward found a strange, deep satisfaction in destroying this man poetically. Nygma wanted to make something beautiful as well as interesting, if not pretentiously overdone and far reaching.

He hummed to himself, feeling warmer than usual. He closed his eyes, basking in the feeling. He turned to take up tongs, plucking a piece of paper from the counter. It was folded neatly into a square, a wax seal with a question mark adorning it, leaving it simple. The stationary didn’t soak easily, it was perfect. He set it between the pseudo-organs, the corners would poke he was sure. The real organs he’d have to dispose of. He imagined the cadaver posed in a carver chair, something of Hazel with black sheer cloth draped over him, in the middle of a burned down building. It may attract the birds, but that’s alright. Nygma thought it would be quite a sight regardless, birds perched upon this floral cadaver. He romanticized the idea, the grit and hardness of Gotham decorated with a flowery corpse.

Oh, what a warm thought. He removed the gloves, but left his lab coat, rolling his office chair close by to sit. He sank with a breathy moan, closing his eyes to ignore the corpse in the room. The smell of antiseptic was beginning to be overpowered by the metallic taste of blood in his mouth – he wasn’t bleeding, but his friend on the table was certainly pungent enough to permeate the copper smell and taste. The flowers helped, but it wasn’t that he particularly minded it. He worked with corpses all the time.

He took a moment to himself, hands gliding up the thighs of his slacks before he caught himself, clearing his throat. Now wasn’t the time. There was a body deteriorating that he needed to move. Branches cut just right to fit between tendons and veins at the wrists, emerging from the arms, more branches bent to wrap around parts; what a beautiful tree, blooming at this time of year. Edward was happy enough that the blossoms hadn’t died just yet after cutting the pieces. More branches stuffed behind the attached cushion of the chair behind the body, fanning out tall and wide like a dreary parasol of death and flowers. The fog began to drift in and he could vaguely hear sirens in the distance. It was such a perfect aesthetic. He was proud of himself as he stood there, straight with a wistful sigh at his creation.

He almost regretted using the location he did for the procedure; it wasn’t particularly difficult, just annoying to try and access. Gravel, rock, an arm there, a tree branch here, and a perfectly posed corpse in the middle of burnt wood and ash. The building was that of an old house, hardly anything left save for a fireplace, a few toppled candles, sediment, and a half-burnt staircase. A young girl was currently in the hospital, wrapped head to toe in gauze due to this fire. Edward found a personal duty to place this man here. He was caught between a personal idolization of death and a savior-complex. No, he wasn’t saving anyone. That was just an excuse to do something terrible and get away with it.

He looked up to the sky. Plenty birds encircling already. He smiled delightfully at his work of art. He’s never been proficient at art, but this was something he particularly felt a bubbling glee for. He looked around cautiously, adjusting the clear plastic over his suit before stuffing it into his trunk and getting in the car. The bleak skyline of Gotham complimented the corpse surprisingly well. Now to anonymously tip the GCPD in about… An hour or so should do it.

He was on the field at his very own crime scene, people taking _photos_ of his work as if it were a kind of sick galleria. Careful not to say too much, Nygma suggested to Harvey and Jim the photos might be something personal. Perhaps to the killer? He laughed to himself; they were of the victim, but what harm was there in a wild goose chase? He pieced together each picture of the crime scene and gave a disappointed smile at some of the photos. No, no, these weren’t flattering _at all_. But some of them, from far enough away, were absolutely vibrant. The GCPD had trouble keeping birds from eating the man, but there was special care from the choice of flowers and where they were placed. There was even a picture of the envelope, inside the cadaver, outside the cadaver, and a few of it opened up, though bloody.

_Dead man, dead man, swinging in a tree_

_How many dead men do you see?_

Several lines describing heinous crimes –

_The first one killed the butcher man…_

_The artist with his daunting skill_

_Tried his hand at painting bills…_

Further targets Nygma would not quite yet reveal, the answer to this riddle was most obviously the Arsonist, his current corpse. That’s what this man was. The one who got away and someone else had to pay for his misdoings. Everyone else would come in time. Nygma would be sure of it. Gotham needed it, afterall.

He took copies of the photos home with him, having them neatly stacked and clipped in a manila folder. Scrawled notes from coworkers about his particular puzzle were, of course, wrong, but he didn’t mind. They were trying, at least. He was upset that they didn’t get it, but at the same time, he outsmarted them. He was content with that.

The blood droplets along the dark grey ash, birds perched in the tree, one having drawn out the dead man’s eye. Edward sat neatly atop his comforter in bed, looking through each picture, satisfied with his work. He frowned, suddenly. A note about the sloppy suture he had to make. He tossed it to the side and it flittered to the floor. He sank back, laying entirely on his back, looking up at the photos in quiet wonder. Blood, knives, scissors, staples, tubes… He closed his eyes, photos touched to his chest as he reimagined it. It was distorted in his mind, but still so vivid. It felt like static, white noise in his head, but also metallic rustic, dark, and bloody. An idle bite to his lip and a wandering hand, he hummed quietly to himself, lifting his hips ever so much into his hand.

What would Miss Kringle look like, open-mouthed, knocked-out, and against an operating table? Bare and soft before him. What about Jim? Even Mister _Penguin_ , how small and angry he was. Better yet. _Harvey_. Edward squeezed, careful with his breathing. _Harvey_ is the one who shuts him down, _Harvey_ is the one who treats everyone, all coworkers, even Jim, like garbage beneath a façade of aggressive-kindness. Officer Dougherty? He was so quick with him, he never had the chance to enjoy himself. He’s worse than Kringle. _Miss Kringle is scared of you – what’s wrong with that?_ He hated the thought at first, but now he wanted Harvey to be afraid of him, too. Everyone should be. He sucked in a sharp breath, hands, both of them, leaving the pictures and scans behind and undoing his belt.

_Oh, you loved her, right? Or maybe you hated her._

Shyly, he reached into his trousers, groping himself through his underwear. No one in particular in his mind, just cutting and peeling and sewing bright red, covered in even brighter red. The metallic flavor lingered in him; he had quite the vivid memory. He almost laughed to himself. _I’m not crazy… I don’t think I am._

His free hand untucked his shirt, smoothing across his stomach and up to his chest with no particular destination, only feeling. Hard under his hand, he pulled out his cock, stroking and squeezing, sighing blissfully as he did so. He made a ring with his fingers around his swelling cock, sinking his head into the pillows as he adjusted his hips, legs holding his lower half up just so. He closed his eyes, small gyrations of his hips, the slightest motions of the rest of his body as he ran a hand back down his stomach, longs fingers ghosting his inner thigh as precum made his cock glisten. His breath quickened as he rocked into his hand. Too warm too quickly, but still trailing his body, sweat smearing across his skin as he bit his lip an sucked a sharp breath. He made only slight desperate noises as he gave up tantalizing himself, one hand wrapped tightly around himself, another groping between his legs before clutching the bedsheet. He couldn’t decide what to do, body reacting too quickly.

He grabbed his glassed from his face, smashing them into the bedsheets, filled to the brim with euphoria as he came, white droplets decorating his stomach. He breathed roughly through his nose, trying to catch his breath. With a calming, deep breath, he muttered, _Oh dear_ , looking up to the ceiling at nothing in particular. Swallowing back and licking his lips, he wiped his face and looked to his glasses. One of the temples broken off its hinges.

“Little buggar,” he groaned, sitting up and fixing himself, taking tissue from his bed stand to clean himself up. He’d have to find his repair kit and replace the screw; he was sure it was stripped.

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of upset I didn't get around to making my own riddles or corpse decorations, but I felt referencing would be just as neat.  
> Titled based off a version of Edward's "the poor have it" Riddle  
> Hannibal "Futamono" Episode  
> Silent Hill Riddle:  
> http://silenthill.wikia.com/wiki/Free_the_Innocent_Man  
> Anyway, hope it was good. Will try to finish up those Nygmobblepot & Cobbullock fics, with original riddles and corpses.


End file.
